


Irreplaceable.

by FreeShavocadoo



Category: Crows Zero (Movies)
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Introspection, M/M, Trans Male Character, relationship beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 09:52:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15264894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreeShavocadoo/pseuds/FreeShavocadoo
Summary: Tokio reflects on his experiences with fighting, Suzuran and Tamao Serizawa.





	1. Chapter 1

_When he punches someone from Suzuran for the first time, the rush is indescribable. It’s like everything clicks into place, the moment becoming completely still and as clear as possible. The burning of his knuckles just feeds into the sensation, his lungs taking in more air than they needed, his body shaking with the strain of remaining upright, the grip around his chest more obvious than ever. The object of his action lies on the floor groaning, cradling his chin between sounds of pain and curses. Tokio can’t help but smile a little, a rush of euphoria making his head hazier than usual._

_He'd been fighting long before his fist ever landed on anyone, of course, but that was a different sensation entirely. The sadness that once crept up on him when he was by himself in front of a mirror was a memory long gone since he’d decided his body was no place for a battleground to be. This was something completely different._

_Middle school had been difficult too, of course, when he’d care little for the excess of unsolicited advice from his parents whom he rarely saw or interacted with anyway. Education for him was less a necessity and more a way to pass the time until he could move on to bigger and better things, to have more freedom. Autonomy was one of the most important things in the world to him, after all._

_Suzuran was different. He’d entered the gates exactly how he’d wanted to, exactly as he wanted to be. He was completely free to do as he pleased, that included fighting. He’d barely been here two months and yet he already felt liberated in a way he couldn’t describe._

_“Nice.”_

_The voice doesn’t surprise Tokio, as he’d been more than aware that somebody was watching him from one of the side streets when he’d began his journey home before the untimely encounter. When he sees the small figure emerge, he smiles to himself._

_“Tamao,” he greets, stepping away from the pavement that the injured assailant was occupying, “did you need something?”_

_Tamao snorts, eyeing the guy on the pavement up and down with a look of disinterest._

_“Since when do you actually fight? Aren’t you usually content to just watch?” Tamao roots in his pocket for a cigarette, hastily flicking his faulty lighter and placing it in his mouth. Tokio can’t help but wrinkle his nose at the smell, still not entirely familiar to him._

_“Since now, I guess.”_

_Tamao just hmms to himself, patting Tokio on the back before departing down the road at his usual sluggish pace._

_“Be careful.”_

* * *

 

When Tamao emerges from his favourite dingy corner store on the way to Suzuran in the morning, Tokio is content to just watch him. Everything about Tamao was simple but in the best way possible, he was blunt where it counted without being cruel. He knows that there are multiple divisions that could’ve prevented any friendship forming all those years ago. Tamao despised those who looked down on the poor and Tokio doesn’t doubt Tamao wouldn’t like his parents if he met them, not that Tokio liked them much either. But Tamao never once indicated his jealousy towards Tokio, who could walk into any store content that he could buy enough to fill his stomach and then some without worrying about his wallets contents once he got to the till.

“Yo,” Tamao greets him, cigarette in mouth, “morning.”

“Morning.” Tokio replies, amused by Tamao’s struggle to light his cigarette with the cheap disposable lighters he insisted on buying. He remembers when he’d bought Tamao a lighter one night when they’d been wandering aimlessly through the nearby stores, not long after one of their infamous fights in their freshman year, spotting a beautiful silver-plated gas lighter that had small patterns delicately embossed in it. Tamao had offhandedly mentioned it and Tokio, knowing how Tamao would react were he to buy it right there, simply waited until the next day and bought it for him instead.

* * *

 

_Tokio wasn’t sure why he was nervous, after all, he’d hit it off with Tamao much faster than he had with anyone before. There was just an energy about him, an inviting one, that Tokio couldn’t ignore. Unlike the other snide remarks he got all pertaining to the ‘rich boy’ comments, Tamao simply told him that he’d make a good partner and that had been that. Tokio’s thumb brushes over the lighter in his pocket, the feel of the embossing under his thumb calming him slightly. He supposes he doesn’t want the gesture to be taken out of context or proportion. He just wants to show his thanks to Tamao for showing him the ropes at Suzuran. Sure, they were both freshmen. But Tokio had only been fighting since the tail end of middle-school and Tamao had probably been roundhouse kicking since the womb, and he appreciated the companionship._

_Clambering up to the roof was always cumbersome, his underarms feeling the strain in particular as he pulled himself up over the final rung of the ladders. Tamao sits facing the sunset, smoke blowing languidly past his head as he leans back comfortably. Tokio approaches slowly, seating himself beside Tamao silently._

_“Hey.” He greets, feeling unusually awkward for once, all too aware of how close Tamao was._

_“Hey.” Tamao replies, tearing his gaze away from the sunset to glance at him, offering a lazy smile._

_“Not often we get to sit up here as freshmen, is it?” He stretches, looking around the roof that was usually occupied by third years at most hours of the day._

_“Nope,” Tokio muses, somewhat soothed by the soft glow of the sunset and the warmth on his skin, “I’m surprised you can get those little legs over the wall, to be honest.”_

_Tamao huffs, glaring in Tokio’s direction from his reclined position. He elbows Tokio’s leg gently, narrowing his eyes playfully._

_“We can’t all look like supermodels, Tokio,” he teases, taking care to blow the smoke in the opposite direction to where Tokio was seated, “no smoking, little to no drinking. You’re a saint amongst sinners.”_

_“Not really that hard to be around here, is it?” Tokio chuckles, staring down at his lap, before remembering why he’d come up here in the first place. He digs around in his pocket, hand grasping the lighter carefully as he pulls it out, dropping it into Tamao’s lap._

_“Huh. What’s this-, “ Tamao looks down and his expression flickers briefly from what looks like confused, to surprised, to soft, “you didn’t have to.”_

_Tokio just watches Tamao test the weight of the lighter, flicking the lid open and flickering the lighter on and off, on and off. He’s glad Tamao isn’t annoyed about it. He knows how easily Tamao could pull the ‘don’t give me charity’ argument out and belittle Tokio for throwing about his money. He appreciates that Tamao sees the gesture for what it is._

_“I wanted to.” Tokio goes back to appreciating the sunset, suddenly aware of the time when he checks his phone. He curses himself inwardly for being so preoccupied, the familiar aching in his back and ribs pulling him back to reality._

_“What is it?” Tamao turns to look at Tokio, raising an eyebrow. “What is it that you’re not telling me?”_

_The sunset begins to cast a red tinge over the rooftop, Tokio closing his eyes momentarily and appreciating the way the light danced behind his eyelids, the soft breeze against his cheeks._

_“I’m a man.”_

_For a second, the sunset seems to still, no reds and oranges bouncing across his vision. The breeze seems silent and the concrete under his fingertips seems smooth. Then he exhales and is brought back to the moment, the tightness in his chest bringing him back down, his back aching from his attempt at a reclined position. He quickly sits upright to relieve the tension, glancing back at Tamao with caution._

_“Okay.” Tamao concludes, moving his hand over Tokio’s, the ghost of a touch, “thank you for telling me.”_

_Tokio can’t help but smile. It was just so typically Tamao to be so blasé about it, yet Tokio couldn’t be more thankful. Tamao was honest from the beginning with him, telling him he wanted to be friends with likeminded people, strong fighters and loyal friends. He didn’t want people who fought for revenge or dirty money and those who joined him were equals._

_“You know I meant what I said when we first met,” Tamao sits upright directly beside Tokio, “that we’re all equals. This doesn’t change that.”_

_“I didn’t think it would.” Tokio pats Tamao’s hand. “Although I don’t know how you can be considered equal to anyone when you’re the size of a garden gnome.”_

_Tamao stares daggers into Tokio’s head, standing in front of him with a look of defiance._

_“I will fuck you up.”_

* * *

 

“What the hell are you thinking about?” Tamao questions, joining Tokio on the pavement after having lit his cigarette.

“Reminiscing about when we were freshmen.” Tokio strolls alongside Tamao, mindful to slow his pace down. Not only was Tamao sluggish in the morning in general, he despised when Tokio would, in his words, ‘rush ahead’.

“Seems like a lifetime ago, huh?” Tamao chuckles, nudging Tokio’s side affectionately.

“Why are you still using those shitty lighters when I bought you one all the way back in freshman year, then?” Tamao bristles at the question, giving Tokio a sharp look.

“I would never walk around here with that in my pocket. I could lose it.”

Tokio snorts, as it is true. Tamao had probably lost everything that had ever held residence in his pockets, other than the occasional time when Tokio had had to hurry into one of the empty classrooms when the pain in his ribs and back became unbearable to take his binder off, upon which Tamao would stuff it in his sizeably larger interior jacket pocket and tell him not to worry.

“Hmm, I didn’t give that lighter so you could just keep it stored away somewhere, Tamao.” Tokio scolds, flicking Tamao’s head.

“Yeah, well-, “ Tamao drifts off and for a moment Tokio is concerned he’s seen someone and his readying himself for a fight, before he sees the flush of colour creeping up Tamao’s neck.

“What?” Tokio questions gently, wanting to know the reason for Tamao’s sudden shyness.

“Well, when you gave it to me, it was, y’know,” Tamao looks exasperated, “that was the day you told me. I dunno, I think if I lost the lighter I’d never forgive myself.”

For once, Tokio’s chest hurts in the best way possible, a warmth that only Tamao can really coax out of him, a security he didn’t know he’d ever needed.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Tokio can’t help the gentleness in his voice, his hand reaching out to rub Tamao’s back soothingly. “I’ve got you. That’s more than enough for me.”

“Pfft,” Tamao begins to break out into a jog, rushing ahead of Tokio, “I knew **that** already!”

Tamao looks back at him and grins, motioning with his head for Tokio to follow as he starts fully running, his hair whipping around his face as he picks up the speed, continually looking back towards Tokio, his hand now outstretched.

Before he even knows what he’s doing, his legs start following Tamao, breaking out into a run in a way that hadn’t felt quite so jubilant since he was a child, laughter echoing down the street as he chases after and grabs the hand of the one person in his life he’ll never take for granted.

 


	2. The first time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into Tokio and Genji's friendship beginnings in middle school.

When he’d first met Genji Takiya, he’d thought very little of him. Like most of the boys at his middle school, Genji came across as brash, arrogant and completely stupid. Tokio couldn’t help but loathe those types of people, quick to punch and slow to think. It reminded him of all the worst experiences he’d had throughout his education. Boys who just didn’t _understand._

The first time he wears men’s clothes, Tokio feels an odd sense of liberation. The soft fabric of women’s clothing often stuck to places he’d rather ignore but men’s clothes draped on his frame perfectly. For the briefest moment, his reflection matched his internal image of himself, no longer ravaged by societies image of what he should be. When his mother sees him leave the house to go to school, she says nothing. Just purses her lips, says goodbye and leaves to go to work without another word. Tokio thinks its probably for the best, she’d hardly been around enough to know the ghost he’d walked around as before. Why would she pretend to know the real him now?

Making friends was the most taxing part of middle school, with everyone already residing in their respective cliques with little room for someone they deemed as different. Tokio can still remember a time when he’d sit with some of them, enjoying superficial conversations until homeroom had finished and their lessons began. Now most of the girls avoid eye contact and the boys simply ignore him. He isn’t really sure which is worse.

It was already halfway through the school year and Tokio was content to sit idly at the back of the classroom and look out of the window, appreciating the birds that usually perched nearby. He’d never been disturbed by people’s attempts at conversation until Genji had slouched down at the table in front of his, pressing his back against the wall to view the entire classroom with a look of boredom.

“Hey,” he turns to look at Tokio, leaning over the back of his chair to rest his hand on Tokio’s desk, “you got a lighter?”

Tokio resists the urge to snort. Out of all of the people in this classroom to ask for a lighter, he chooses the one who doesn’t even associate with delinquents. He can’t stand the smell of smoke, much less the itching feeling he gets in the back of his throat when he’s forced to inhale it just because he steps up on the roof for fresh air. What kind of middle schoolers smoke, anyway?

“Don’t smoke.” Tokio resumes his looking out of the window, the sounds of the birds chirping bringing a certain calm to him.

“Hmph,” Genji stares in disbelief, “then what the hell _do_ you do around here?”

Tokio laughs a little, staring at Genji properly for the first time. He knows what everyone says about him, since most don’t even bother to whisper. His dad is a Yakuza boss, Genji is in line to succeed him. Most of the population of this middle school have no inclination towards fighting other than a minority of small-time delinquents, most of which avoid Genji as well. Tokio wonders if Genji feels alone sometimes. He doesn’t look particularly concerned with what others say about him, even if his temper is excessive.

“Learn, of course.” Tokio replies, resting his chin on his hand.

Genji’s eyebrows furrow, his hand running through his hair slowly as a look of contemplation crossed his face. Tokio couldn’t help but notice the complete contrast between the Genji Takiya he’d seen fight and the Genji Takiya who asks for a lighter so casually. It’s slightly disconcerting. Tokio wonders if this is due to taking one too many punches to the head or inflicting one too many punches to someone else’s.

 

* * *

 

 

_Genji’s house is covered in ornaments ranging from marbled figurines to samurai swords, tapestries littering the bare spots on the wall and dim lighting in most rooms. Tokio finds it oddly endearing, especially compared to his own home which is Spartan in comparison._

_“I’m home, old man.” Genji shouts, kicking his shoes off carelessly. Tokio exerts a little more decorum, not only due to his presence in a Yakuza house but also due to the fact he is a guest._

_Genji’s father emerges from one of the many rooms, dressed in a sharp suit absent only the jacket. His hair is as dark as Genji’s and Tokio can’t help but note the similarities between the two, angular jaws and a natural scowl. Genji’s dad, however, has a look of humour in his eyes. Tokio can’t help but find it simultaneously inviting and intimidating._

_“Since when do you have friends, Gen?” He questions, slapping the back of Genji’s head and getting a grumbled noise of dissatisfaction in response._

_Genji rubs his head angrily, shooting his father a look of utter annoyance before he glances at Tokio._

  _“This is Tokio,” Genji points his thumb towards him, as though he could’ve been talking about anyone else in the room, “he’s a friend from middle school.”_

_If Genji’s dad has any reservations about the nature of Genji’s reference to Tokio, he says nothing, simply offering a curt nod._

_“Well, Tokio. It’s nice to see my idiot son can find a friend somewhere. You can call me Hideo.” He offers his hand and Tokio takes it, shaking it briefly before his hand drops back to his side._

_“Fuck off, dad. He doesn’t want to talk to you.” Genji grumbles, grabbing Tokio’s sleeve and pulling him into his bedroom before slamming the door shut._

_His room, as expected, is messy. There are countless manga books scattered on the shelves, cd’s, posters of obscure bands that Tokio has never heard of. He perches, uncertain, on the edge of Genji’s bed, fiddling with the duvet under his fingers, his nerves creeping up on him. The warmth seems to catch up with him too, the combination of his tank top and baggy t-shirt underneath his jacket only increasing what had began as a nervous sweat. He hadn’t ever really had a male friend, let alone one who’d invited him round to his house. Tokio wasn’t really sure what the etiquette was for this._

_“You warm?” Genji questions, yanking the window in his room open without waiting for an answer, shutting the curtains violently._

_“A little.”_

_“Just dump your shit over there, if you want to.” Genji points to the chair he has in front of his desk, the desk that has no doubt never seen any school work. Tokio wrestles with the idea of leaving his jacket on the chair. The comfortable weight of it usually kept him rather secure, but at this particular moment it was rather taxing. He flings it off onto the chair, sitting further back on Genji’s bed before fully reclining._

_“I want to go to Suzuran,” Genji blurts out suddenly from his position on the floor, “my dad says if I can unify Suzuran I can succeed him.”_

_Tokio is all too familiar with the rumours surrounding Suzuran. The school where the ‘worst of the worst’ go, or so everybody says. He wonders what motivates most of them to go there, beyond the urge to do nothing but fight all day._

_“Do you actually want to go to Suzuran?” Tokio lifts his head up to look at Genji, who has a thoughtful look on his face._

_“I dunno. My mum said she wanted me to complete high school, but I don’t know if I’d be able to.”_

_Tokio feels an odd surge of affection for Genji. He knows Genji talks little about his mother, since she’d passed away when he was still rather young. He notices that whenever people talked about their mothers in class that Genji’s eyes would glaze over slightly and he’d look vulnerable for a brief moment before his expression would harden again._

_“Then why don’t you try to go to a regular high school before you make up your mind?” Tokio muses, staring up at the ceiling. “That way, if you’re as strong as you say you are, you can always transfer.”_

_“Yeah, I guess.” Genji replies, running his fingers through his hair once more with a disgruntled look. “Can you believe what my dad’s barber has done to my hair?” He scoffs, glaring at his reflection in the mirror, his hair framing his face no matter how many times he attempted to push it back._

_“No, I can’t.” Tokio sniggers. “You look like a moron.”_

_The statement clearly takes a few moments to hit home before Genji turns with an expression of utter fury on his face, only furthering Tokio’s laughter when his hair falls yet again in front of his eyes._

_“Why don’t you cut it yourself?” Tokio questions, sitting fully upright with his arms folded over his chest._

_“I dunno, probably because I’d fuck it up even more.” Genji rakes his fingers through his hair before letting out a loud sigh, his scowl deepening. “Cut it for me.”_

_“Why would I do that?” Tokio laughs at the absurdity of Genji asking him to cut his hair, especially when Tokio’s own hair remained in a small bun on the back of his head, too long to keep down. Tokio had always found the prospect of cutting his own hair daunting, less an attachment to the hair itself and more what it symbolised. Of course, that side of himself had been discarded a long time ago, but Tokio wasn’t really sure what he wanted from it now. The physical was never the important aspect to him. It was more of an obstacle that the lesser people in his life got stuck crossing._

_“Just do it.” Genji hisses, slamming his door open and disappearing into another room before returning with a bashed-up pair of clippers. “I don’t care what you do with it, just do something.”_

_“Anything?” Tokio muses, staring at the clippers that were placed in his hand._

_“Okay, not bald. But other than that, whatever. I trust you.”_

_Tokio’s chest is suddenly warm, his heart aching slightly. What was probably a throwaway statement to Genji was much more than he realised. Tokio stares at Genji, wondering what exactly he’s supposed to do with his hair. He wonders briefly what he’d want to look like if he wanted people to fear him or take him seriously. Before he knows what he’s doing, he begins shaving the sides of Genji’s head smoothly, down to a soft fuzz of hair. When he’s finished he picks up the scissors, cutting the longer lengths of Genji’s hair and smoothing it back haphazardly, the hair falling into place in a more uniform fashion than previously. When Tokio finishes, Genji stands up to look in the mirror, running his fingers over the shaved sides with an impressed look._

_“What made you pick this?” He asks, and Tokio isn’t sure how to answer._

_“I dunno. I guess I just thought it’d suit you.” He replies simply, appreciating the way Genji’s face does look much more mature than the average middle schoolers now, the dim lights of his room illuminating his sharper features. It definitely does suit whatever image it is that Genji is trying to portray._

_“Well, turn around then.” Genji nudges Tokio’s shoulder gently, Tokio shooting him a curious look._

_“Why?”_

_“It’s your turn. Do you trust me?” Genji asks, running his fingers through Tokio’s hair softly after pulling his hair tie out. Tokio resists the urge to sigh, the simple touch an intimacy that he’d not been afforded as his true self. He considers Genji’s question for a second before replying._

_“Of course I do.” He looks back at Genji momentarily, patting Genji’s hand._

_“Right then.” Genji retrieves the scissors, running his hands through sections of Tokio’s hair sporadically. Tokio had never been to have his hair cut, having hated the prospect of having to decide what he thought ‘suited’ him and having to ask for it, but he was definitely sure this was the least professional way possible to go about it. He didn’t care much about that, though._

_When the sound of the scissors suddenly halts, Tokio’s mind snaps back to the present, suddenly aware of how much lighter his head felt. When Genji promptly points towards the mirror, Tokio stands up, apprehensive. He wonders what he’s going to see in the mirror, all too aware of the deceit his own eyes can cause sometimes. When he sees himself, he can’t stop the gasp that comes out. His hair, once waist length and pulled away from his face, was now too short to ever tie back. It was long enough to be tousled, the stray hairs cut at different lengths framing his face in a way he’d never considered. Tokio can’t help but admire the way the hair curling beneath his ear makes his jaw look wider, more angular. The way the hairs twisting near his temples cast a shadow on his face that once betrayed his true intentions, casting his eyes in shadows and drawing attention to what he considered his favourite feature._

_“Do you like it?” When Tokio catches Genji’s eyes in the reflection of the mirror he smiles, noticing how Genji was biting his lip and staring nervously._

_“I love it.” Tokio smiles, truly meaning it. “Who’d have thought you could cut hair?”_

_“Not me, that’s for sure.” Genji sniggers, beginning to collect the clumps of hair around the room, Tokio feeling considerably lighter. The sight of his hair disappearing into the bin seems to cleanse him of all the nerves he had when he first entered the room, his shoulders straightening up and his chin following. Tokio just knows this is the beginning of something good._

_“What about you then?” Genji asks, putting the last bit of hair in the bin and tossing the scissors onto his desk, seating himself on the chair that Tokio’s jacket was hanging on the back of._

_“No idea.” Tokio wonders himself where he’s going after middle school, not having thought about the bigger picture but instead the day by day basis._

_“Me neither, really.”_

 

* * *

 

 

The first time he see’s Genji after middle school, he’s all limbs and arrogance, kicking over the table where everyone was gambling with little regard for the consequences. When Tokio manages to get down from the roof and run after Genji, catching him in one of the empty corridors, he gives himself a moment to breathe properly. When Genji’s eyes land on him, he regards him with a look of curiosity before chuckling to himself.

“So, after all that advice you gave me about waiting, you ran straight in here causing all kinds of trouble?” He laughs, shaking his head.

Tokio wishes he explain what possessed him to enrol at Suzuran after middle school. He doesn’t think Genji would understand his reasoning. Tokio wasn’t interested in ruling Suzuran, nor did he enjoy mindless violence. He enjoyed the freedom, the feeling of his knuckles after a long fight, the feeling of being looked at as a formidable opponent. When people saw him here, they respected him. Genji got that everywhere else, but for Tokio it was a much more tremulous journey, one that required him to be truly invested.

“Not as much as you.” Tokio smiles, shaking his head at the absurdity of the situation. Whilst Tamao was the one who truly accepted him, knew everything about him and loved him unconditionally, Genji was different. He’d been a catalyst for rebirth in a way that only Genji could, quietly, unassumingly and without pretence. Tokio knew it was irrational to think so but it seemed like the sun and moon of his life were both aligned, inevitably going to clash. He also couldn’t help but think that it could only end in neutrality. Genji and Tamao were more similar and compatible than they’d ever know.

Tokio couldn’t be more thankful.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wanted to fill in the blanks between the last fic that covers Tokio's first year at Suzuran and Third year at Suzuran, in comparison to his middle school days.   
> I hope this is a good read!

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo this was something new for me and I really hope that people enjoy it.   
> As usual, I will accept all constructive criticism. :)


End file.
